It's Thursday! How 'bout a patchwork poem?
Never the Fish: God Speaks to Mary
Rising caked and scarred, but regal
between Scylla and Charybdis
with the barb in its gill,
she knew nothing of later events.
Be the fisherman,
Blessed Mother. Each
into the water again and again.
Worm. Hook. Line. Reel.
sparkling into thousands of pieces,
emitted from the belly of the conch.
She picked pieces with her bare hands.
Men are like this.
For a solid bite pull them in slowly,
wipe the snow from your grave.
Be the fisherman.
Oh the joy of patchwork poetry. I love reading people's poems, highlighting the lines that jump out at me, then weaving them into a new piece. The poem seems to write itself.
The lines in this poem are from polkadot witch, paisley, mariacristina, writerwoman, and gautami.
Visit patchwork poetry for more cool poems (and maybe, just maybe, you might like to join us next time...)!